


Maybe just the end of the Show

by HellsPurestDevil



Series: Fallout Vindictus [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Abandonment, Creature Attack, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Graphic Description, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character(s), Other, People are gonna hate me for this one xD, Poisoning, Rescue Missions, rescue mission gone wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellsPurestDevil/pseuds/HellsPurestDevil
Summary: DISCONTINUED
Series: Fallout Vindictus [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783843
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

John knew of death. 

Many a man he met during his time here on earth had fallen, or would sooner fall on the grounds of the wastes, succumbing to wounds or famine or disease. In the beginning the ones he had seen pass and gone would scream and shout and moan in agony. But towards the end, none of them seemed to be in any pain. Depending on the situation, they even seemed to be faintly puzzled if anything, as if confused by the sensation of their bodies finally slowing down to a halt.

He knew of death he had _seen_ death but.....

" _Mr Mayor, I don't feel so good_...."

.....It was the tone in the other Ghouls voice that made the blood flowing in his veins feel like ice water. A sort of harsh gravel in a otherwise pure spoken tone.

John turned slowly, wind blew against his face and something in his stomach spasmed painfully as he watched Kents wayward gaze turn inward, his expression frozen in a grimace of horror.

He looked—almost _puzzled_ , really.

Kent swallowed, a audible click in his throat, and took a wobbly step forward and at that moment John was actually going to start calling him fawn again. Great big doe-eyes and wobbly legs. It fit too well, even for skittish little Kent. The land was hot and stuffy, John couldn't think, his throat was painfully tight, _couldn't even speak_. His side which had received blow after blow was screaming at him—one hot, blazing strip of agony, throbbing in time with his pattering heartbeat.

"Hold Kent..." he commands, _finally_. He's okay. He _has_ to be. Whatever angel of death passing over had spared the two of them. "You're alright," he mutters, and as if the words cut his strings like a puppet, Kent suddenly hiccuped, lurching forward and collapsed heavily against him. John's eyes widened in alarm, his arms lurching to catch the Ghouls collapsing body as a shout ripped from his throat, harsh and guttural, almost sounding like a name. John clutched him tighter in a deathgrip, getting dragged down to the ground when the smaller ghouls lower body finally gave out. He won't let go. If he holds on tight enough, shelters him against the ground with his own body, then everything would be alright, then this would all be for something, not nothing.

He had just barely enough time before the Ghoul went complete dead weight, to transfer him from his arms to the ground. As the Ghoul lay there, prone and still and _oh dear god so pale_ , John gave him a once over. There was a great deal of sweat that coated him.

John called his name, but he didn't answer. Mind racing, fighting back panic, he fumbled with his arm for a moment and rolled up the sleeve of his drenched suit, clutching his wrist---for a moment he was too panicked; when he finally felt what he was looking for, he out a loud sigh of relief, mixed with the fainted ghouls own faint, uneven breaths. 

For a second muddled thoughts occupied most of his mind, trying to figure out when exactly Kent could have gotten hurt. There had been barely any blood, none that he could see anyway. It was dark, everywhere, even with the last remnants of the afternoon sun lowering itself over the horizon, John couldn't see anything.

The Mayor placed his hand up to the smaller Ghouls chest and waited. There hadn't been a drop of blood since they took off, but there was something more disturbing that Hancock found. 

_Heat_. 

Heat was escaping from sweat coated skin of the now unconscious Ghoul, pouring down his temples in rivulets. 

Ghouls ran hot, but never _this_ hot.

 _Goddammit_.

John turned his head towards the face of the fainted Ghoul. Kent's face was pale, an unhealthy sheen to it, sweat gluing his up until recently, near immaculate suit to his body. John had originally thought nothing of it when it started. Thought maybe it was the fucked-upness of this whole situation that was finally catching up to Kent making him nauseous. John wouldn't had blamed him for freaking out now after everything that just went on, Kent was never truly built for fighting anyways. Even after the astonishing feat he had just accomplished a mere hour ago...

Johns eye's suddenly froze on Kents ankle. He stared for a moment.....

_"I'm---fine, Mr Mayor," he had said before, swaying on his feet and grabbing the tree harder to keep from falling. He was trembling slightly, knees knocking together, right eye twitching. "No harm done, just twisted my ankle is all..."_

then quickly went and started to rolled up Kents right pant leg---

A fearful chill ran down his back almost immediately when the skin of Kents leg came into view. Kents leg was _horrendously_ swollen with a reddish blue tone, and was exuding some kind of horrible smell that in no weird twisted world such as theirs could ever be considered healthy. But still, John kept rolling up the pant leg, the swelling making it difficult before he silently apologized to the fainted Ghoul then ripped it the last of the way up. 

The swelling had not been working it's way down to up like John had thought at first hand, but _up_ to down. Kent's hip was a frightful mix of colors made only more gruesome in the light of the increasingly setting sun. The heat coming off it just as immense.

Then, Hancock saw what he feared he would see. What he _knew_ he would.

On his skin, two evenly spaced holes made the epicenter on Kents hip, each one slowly leaking its own mess of gruesome colors, sticky and oozing. He ripped one half of Kents pant leg away, pressing it against the nauseating wound in a effort to stop the oozing, not giving it a second thought on if it was a good idea or not. The cloth made a wet squish noise after sometime that made his throat want to close up as light brown suite slowly but surely turn blackish-brownish-red.

“Hey, Kenty boy, you have to wake up for me okay,” Hancock begged while patting at Kent's cheek, his hands leaving bloody sporadic smears. "Come now wake up" It's going to be okay, you're going to be okay." His ramblings went on, as he clutched the smaller Ghoul to his chest with one hand while applying pressure to the wound with the other, hoping for even the slightest reaction from his companion, and feeling the beginnings of hopelessness creep into his heart when he received none. 

Increasing pressure, Hancock spun his head, looking in all direction. The men who had taken Kent wouldn't be that far away, not when they found out their _pet_ failed to do it's job and now lay dead somewhere out in the wastes with a bullet hole in its neck and head.

The two of them had only gotten away because they kept moving. They _had_ to keep moving the safety of Goodneighbor or even one of Johns secret safe houses would have done good, but that would mean….No, he couldn’t possibly- Would he abandon...no no he couldn't do that he... he groaned, blood rushed in his ears, mixing poorly with the nausea from what was likely a concussion when the butt of one of the men he had run into's gun hit him behind the head. There's a gentle, fluttering feeling against his ears, as soft as a moth's wing.

Below him, Kent released a _horrible_ wet sounding cough followed by a moment of dry heaves. But Johns joy was short lived as he watched whatever brief level of consciousness Kent had started to fleet away from him. He groaned painfully as he closed his eyes tight and then tried to open them wide, looking like he was finding it near impossible to focus on anything. He shut his eyes again. He groaned once more before letting his head weigh heavily on the mayors arm.

Biting the tattered remnants of his lower lip with a decision made, John glanced down at Kent watching as his body jumped with the movements as he scooped him up into his arms as the pair made their way through the inky blackness.  
_ _ _

It was the unnatural darkness which woke him at first. When he opened his eyes and looked into the nothingness, adrenaline sent his synapses into a crazed frenzy. His breathing had quickened, his eyes widened and stared into the endless dark. 

Sensations flooded his mind and were only drowned out by the unmistakable background noise. He could not move from his position, lying on the rough concrete floor on his side. 

Now there were bee's in his head and warmth on his neck.

His head had become like a vast chambered hive; pain roared and raved in each irregular room and crooked corridor. Bees had come. The bees had thought he was dead. The Bee and Bloatflies. They had invaded his head and turned his skull into a honeycomb. And now ... _now_ ...

A thick, agonized groan was muttered. His saliva-streaked cheek rubbed slowly on the rough concrete. In front of his eyes, a mess of color, hues and shades all smeared together and as composed like cotton candy moved around him, spinning and dancing and drifting in peaceful distorted nonsense. It was soothing almost, tempting him to close his eyes.

_Wake up Kent_

**_Go away_ **

But the voice didn't listen, it _insisted_ on calling his name. Suddenly a blaring pain shot up his spine. Like a cold fire. And the world tilted again and became fuzzy only this time without the pretty cotton candy colors. As the world settled, the first thing that he registered was the strange all-over-body tingling that struck his skin. It was like from head to foot, every limb and patch of whatever flesh he still owned had fallen asleep and now he had those terrible pins and needles everywhere. He grimaced, ruined yet functional muscles tightening reflexively as he forced himself to keep his eyes open for as long as he could. It was such a weird feeling to have those organs deep within him tickled by the same similar sensation.

The voice that called him was harsh, demanding, cold and distant and he realized that it wasn't the voice of his sisters like he had dreamt of, or of his father or mother or any of his friends for that matter, they never could be that cold even if they tried. That had only been his poor, wounded mind trying to fool itself. This was a voice from ... from..

The thought didn't come to him quick enough. He soon felt himself float at first like on air or a cloud, dizzy and weightless, before sensations came to him like a freight train.

He couldn't breathe.

His head was spinning so hard it had come right off his neck and was somewhere in the stratosphere.

There was this strange buzzing in his ears that he couldn't make sense of, like someone was trying to talk to him but he was underwater.

His throat stung.

His ribs throbbed with every beat his hollow heart made.

There was a needle prick of pain. Something trickled down his neck, smearing underneath the collar of his shirt. Sleepless, sick, and sore, his brain fuzzily flashed back to distant horrors as it worked to process present ones.

How he had gotten into this situation was still a mystery his foggy brain couldn't seem to muster an answer too. All events leading up to this had also been a blurred mess, bleeding into one another until he could scarcely determine which was false and which was true. All he did remember was he felt himself get thrown back. His back and shoulders collided with the ground with a harsh sickening _SMACK_ that had sent the world reeling and it took all his energy to make sure his head didn't follow suit.

And it would have appeared that this voice wasn't gonna give him the decency of giving him a few moments to collect himself and figure out the rest, cause another sudden prick fixes itself a nice spot on his neck again.

Nausea churned in his belly, sickness rolling through him, leaving him a groaning mess. He hasn't been sick in a long time, not since he turned Ghoul and for one delirious moment that lasts longer then a moment should, he wonders if he had drank too hard on one of the off days he actually did, until he opens his eyes and realises he hasn't because his venue of choice wouldn't be some crumbling building on the edge of nowheresville.

There's something in his side, feels like there's something in his hip. His own fingers weakly brush against it. Pain, white hot and breathtaking, rides a wave of darkness that threatens to drown him as it slowly settled behind his eyes, and parts of the day slowly swam back to him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Consciousness didn't come to him slowly but rather a rude, abrupt awakening as he gasps, gulping greedily for air that doesn't seem willing to fill his lungs the way it's supposed to._

_His head swims in confusion and terror as a chill seeps and creeps through his jacket, his skin, to reside so deep his bones and he's not sure if he'll ever know warmth again. A heavy weight presses on his chest and he opens his eyes, hissing away at the bright spots that dance in his vision despite the darkness surrounding him, stabbing at his eyes like sharp needles plunging into his skull._

_A cry reverberates through his ears and it takes a second longer than it should for him to realize the cry is his own and he blinks, moisture spilling from his eyes to make a frozen path down his cheeks, weak breath puffing through his nose as sharp, agonizing pain ripples through him._

_He attempts movement, attempts to lift the suffocating weight off his chest but his arms refuse to move from his sides, totally numb and even attempting to move his left ignites a frozen fire that pulses from his fingertips to shoulder and back again. A howling sound escapes his throat, triggering a response in his belly that sends his food to follow and he coughs and gags as he tilts his head to the side, the only movement he seems to be capable of at the moment, to keep from choking on his own vomit as his brain seems to rattle in his skull._

_For a while he focuses on nothing but breathing despite the heavy obstacle and the crippling pain shooting through his body. After a few moments numbness begins to take hold and he's not sure if that's a good thing or not, but it gives him a chance to think and get his bearings._

_Scanning his surroundings in the faint starry light he sees that he's surrounded by trees, busted cars, the crumbling skeletons of old buildings and he has no idea how he got there, what he was doing. His memory is a sea of fog with a visibility of zero and panic washes over him in a sudden tidal wave._

**_Help isn't coming._ **

_The waves of panic crash into him mercilessly and he calls out into the night for help as breath comes in short, quick gasps. He's trembling, shivering violently as coldness and pain slices through nerves, ripping through his body and he can't breathe._

_He can't breathe, he can't move, and help isn't coming._

_He's screwed. He's screwed because help isn't coming_

_Help isn't coming._

_The darkness comes instead._

_ _ _

  
He wakes up to the feeling of drowning. 

He's drowning. It's a weird sensation, and to be honest, it kind of pisses him off. The world itself was swimming, dipping and turning in movements that made his eyes sway. 

He remembers learning to swim when he was younger. He'd always hated the water, had kicked and fought his parents when they tried to teach him, panicked when his head even touched it. His mom had been patient with him, more patient than his father, and had just started to get him to try it, but Kent never caught onto it like his siblings did, and after a while his mother stopped trying.

Kent could hear something somewhere through the watery haze. The voice was muttering under his breath in that tone it always got when something was really, really wrong and he was trying not to freak. But Kent was too tired to worry. 

He's so tired. It's not just because of the fire in his veins blazing even with the cold feeling of water lapping at him. It only makes up part of the reason why he's so frickin' tired and God, he really wishes whoever was above him would stop yelling in his ear and shaking him because he just wants to sleep or **_die_** or whichever comes first. There's a weird saying about that, something his mother use to say, like _you can sleep when you're dead_ or _**something**_ , and if that's the case, he really wishes he was dead so that he could sleep.

But that someone above him won't let him.

That someone keeps jostling him, moving him, sending a fiery pain down his arms and aching legs that evaporates the water, liquefies his bones and makes him keen and want to scream. He wishes whoever it was would just leave him and let him sleep, but they won't and Kent knows that, and Kent can't help but think their being so cruel.

" ** _Ple_** ," he garbles, throat tight, cracking his eyes open a little bit to see the face hovering above his. It looks beyond panicked; looks all white and ghost-like but a little bit of hope glitters in its eyes when he tries attempts to communicate.

_Please what? Talk to me. C'mon, talk to me._

He gasps again, his chest seizing with a vice like grip, god he just wants to sleep.

"Kent... _Kent_ stay awake, goddamnit."

That voice now seemed loud, urgent, and he struggled to open his eyes wider then slits. It sounded familiar but how could it be? The owner of that voice was back at the statehouse and he was - well, he didn't actually know where he was. Wherever the hell it was, it was too damn hot.

The insistent voice came again and he frowned.

_Stop yelling at me. My head freakin' hurts._

His lungs burned as he attempted to draw in enough breath to tell this to the voice and he coughed weakly, sending stabbing shards of agony through his brain. The darkness had returned and it hovered just around the edges of his vision, threatening to engulf him once more but he fought it. Nausea rolled in his stomach and he moaned as cramps ripped through the muscles in his limbs. It felt like he was being tied in knots and when they finally subsided after what seemed an eternity, his body thrummed and twitched like he'd been plugged into the mains.

The voice speaks again and it's then Kent decides that what he hears bleeding out of the voice is furious urgency, the perfect blend of worry and _damn it, **Kent** , you'd better say something or I'll kill you myself_ and he's not sure how to feel about that. It feels like it's only been an hour since jaws had dug into his side and left a wound there that had jerked him down to first his knees and then onto his stomach later on. Thought in reality he doesn't know how long it's actually been.

On more of a downside, even if he could speak clearly he doesn't think an apology to the skeleton in the flower dress laying in the corner of the room for the flower vase he'd broken during the shuffle inside this dark house will suffice, because the pot is happily getting its revenge by digging into his back. Nothing burns worse, however, than the fire surging in his veins. But the creature wasn't here making everything worse. He was, like he always did....

"L'me sl'p," he begs to the best of his ability, still staring so blearily and out to space at the skeleton, one would think he was talking to it, and maybe he was, but it's the voice that looks murderous at the very thought. He moves Kent again, and whatever is in his blood starts to burn so intensely that it crescendos into a tsunami of fire until Kent is screaming. It's agony. It hurts so much that any comprehensible thought burns away until all he can think is why this voice had to be so cruel.

"Easy, easy. Stop, Kent." The voice is near his face now. "It'll be over soon, Just let the stim and the good ol'ghoul in ya take care of it all."

But the apparent stim flowing in him ain't helping, its burning him, and he wants to say that but he can't. He could just moan weakly as the fire in his veins sinks into his body, his muscles contracting violently as if their fearful of the raging flames and trying to get away, and the shivering that had begun long before intensified ten fold.

" _No, Kent! Don't do that, Silver… Please_." The voice cried in dismay, peering anxiously down at him. " _Don't you do that_!"

His constant trembling had become brutal quaking, but he doesn't know what's coming, and figures even if he did he doubts being able to do a damn thing to stop it. He could feel his toes curling inside his shoes and it's the last thing he feels before the world goes back to numb and dark.

_ _ _  
 _Something calls his name_

_Consciousness returns slowly this time as the faint light of early dawn casts shadows across the open landscape. The air is thin, dusty, and he coughs as he tries to drink it in, but a heavy weight on his chest makes it difficult and the deep ache settling into his bones turns sharp as he tries to move and he gasps a shuddering moan._

_He's tied to the hood of a car, splayed out like some offering, he figures that out by the way he can't move his spread arms, and here's the jangle of chains whenever he does, a tight sound that rattles his skull. He is still unable to remember where he is, or how he got there or what exactly was going on. He can't remember much of anything but the sharp throb in his skull, blurred vision and rolling nausea in his belly tells him he's got a doozy of a concussion and that would be enough to screw with anyone's memory._

_What he does know is that there's **something** with him. And it scares him cause he remembers the hissing and heavy footsteps out of everything. This something was toying with him, whoever had set it loose on him with the hopes of it killing him had been mistaken. It had no intentions of killing him just yet, it wanted too play with him, quite possibly to scare him into submission. Like some freakishly horrendous cat and mouse game._

_Sharp shooting pain throbs throughout his body and he can't tell where one ache ends and another begins, so he doesn't even know what's injured and what's not. It's getting hard to focus, it's getting harder and harder to breathe and his body is trembling from shock and if someone doesn't get there soon, he's screwed because he knows that in his condition he won't be able to get himself free, and even if he could, he knows he has no idea where his is, and he doesn't want to get lost._

_Someone will come, someone will._

_He'll be fine._

_He forces himself to relax, to think. People will be able to find him. Goodneighbor was home to the best people he knew, someone would come._

_Tiredly he closes his eyes and sinks into his spot. He feels the sweet pull of unconsciousness, oblivion's whispered promises of a painless sleep tempt him to let himself go under and he almost complies, trusting that someone will find him_.

_**No one will come.** _

_The thought suddenly pulls harsh against his brain, like rabid mongrels on a kill. He moans in agony, feeling tears pool in his eyes and he lets them loose with a whimper. Waves of pain ripple through him, dulling into a frozen numbness once again._

_White spots flash across his vision and he lets his head fall back and it feels like his brain is bouncing painfully against his skull and he tilts to the side as he spits out more vomit. He releases a shaky cry._

_Someone will come, someone will come._

_**No one will come.** _

_Please...._

_Just make it stop_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading please comment and kudo if you wish


	3. Chapter 3

John had been scared a lot in his life.

He wasn't ashamed of this fact. The ability to feel the fear and do something about it anyways was part of being a man. Something that had been drilled into him by his father many times over the years. But this was a different type of fear, something that gnawed at his belly and spread up the base of his neck.

The convulsion Kent went through had frightened the hell out of him, and he prayed it would just be the one time. He had seen convulsions before, one of the downside of living as a washed up junky, too many people trying their hand with lady-luck and loosing. What was scarier though about this, was even with the dim lighting cascading through the murky rain soaked window, John could clearly see that Kents lips were turning blue and the already almost exposed veins in his cords of his neck were bulging every time he drew in a shaky breath when his body allowed him the motion to do so.

When it lasted more then a minute, John frantically began patting and searching the pockets of his frock for something _anything_ that could help the poor ghoul, with his hand producing a stimpack from his back pocket, the only one he was sure he had.

Looking down at the stim, he shoved it into Kents shoulder without another thought, without thinking that maybe it would be a waste to use it and that this episode would be over soon, that the stim was the only one he had left on him. But John was in flight-mode. His hand was on Kents hip as he watched with relief as the smaller Ghoul slowly started to stop shaking, the empty stim pack clutched tight, empty in his other hand. 

When it was finally over and done, Kent had hunched over on his side, his eyes were squeezed shut and as he coughed weakly, saliva strung out of his mouth and down his cheek to the dusty floor. 

"Kent, open your eyes." John frantically yelled. "Open em up, now."  
_ _ _

After some time, and great effort, Kent's gaze flickered open. It had been a very long half hour since the convulsion he didn't even know he had ended. All he knew was he just felt sore and confused worse then what he did before everything went numb and dark. And man did he feel so tired.

There was clink of what sounded like glass rolling behind his head before it hit a wall and suddenly he felt his head rise up, fall down then a hand laid on his neck. His eyes flicked momentarily at John without a hint of recognition on his part, though he did notice apparent relief in the gaze staring back at him, even if he didn't notice everything else. 

John did notice however, even with the convulsions long gone, Kent looked like he was in pain worse then before, his red eyes were wet and rolling as he fought to stay conscious. He was breathing in short, sudden gasps which were getting less and less loud then they were before and more shallow. It looked so painful, that John could feel his own chest clenching with each breath the Ghoul took.

John swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, trying to ignore the pain filled look Kent was giving him without even realizing it. "I know, Kent, I know," he tried to ignore the way his voice sounded weak, "you're doing a good job."

Kent licked his lips and his eyes closed in slits. Seeing the windows of the dilapidated building being pelted frantically by rain, He mumbled something. Something that sounded like radstorm, and John couldn't help but chuckle a little, trying to mask his frayed nerves, "Nah man, just a little rain shower, no fun to be had tonight." He wanted to make an added joke, a small quip, something so _stereotypical_ and so _Hancock_ that it would probably lighten the mood and take his mind off the situation for nothing but a brief moment, but he couldn't come up with anything.

John's eyes travel back to Kents hip, thinking, then he was leaning sideways, where his ragged thumb lightly dragged where the two holes were. 

The movement caused Kent to shift away and sudden pain stole his breath and replaced them with whimpers.

"Take it easy," He soothes, his hand other moving to his shoulder. "Don't move."

He drags his thumb against the holes again, feels something hard in one of them, buried deep, just like he thought. 

John hung his head low, closed his eyes in thought, his thumb constantly bumping into that hard object buried in Kents hip. Kent doesn't react, John knows why, he's fainted again.

_Your gonna hate me for this_

Kent doesn't see him shift 

_But I ain't got no options_

Kent doesn't see John take out his knife  
_ _ _

_His breathing is inadequately shallow, and he feels panic creeping in because he doesn't remember anything about how he ended up here in this position. He just knows he's stuck, he's injured and completely helpless. The helpless feeling is something he's used to, but he can't move. Something is pinning him down, his body is frozen, trembling in shock and his injuries are too extensive to even attempt more movement, his head is throbbing and nausea threatens to purge his already empty stomach._

_He needs help._

_Help isn't coming._

_He gasps, blinking back the distant memories plaguing his aching head._

_He's_ _all alone_.

Help isn't coming.

_He's screwed._

_A cough erupts deep in his chest, jarring his many injuries, sending spikes of pain to shoot through him. He coughs again, but he's unable to draw in much air and the coughs rattling his chest steals away all the oxygen and his vision darkens, his thoughts drag him back to the reality that odds are he has been abandoned._

_And he's in no position to save himself._

" _Kent_!"

_The distant shout startles him but he closes his eyes because it's not real. He's gone delusional._

_A growl meets his ears and he can hear that the creature is back, Hears it circling him, growling, chomping its teeth threateningly with those almost otherworldly clicks and chitters. But Kent keeps his eyes closed, he doesn't want to see that disturbingly human face with the massive teeth and large claws that are just itching to take chunks out of him._

_The voice is louder, it sounds like someone he knows but how could it be?_

_He can hear the heavy footfalls of the creature as it gallops away again, growling and snarling, not liking the arrival of the voice. Suddenly a shot rings out and the creature yelps in pain before Kent can hear the crackling of fire and the smell of charred flesh that makes him want to vomit._

_He tries to open his eyes, because delusion or not, it feels so real but he can't breathe and the darkness is so inviting. Suddenly the weight is off his chest and a sudden rush of air enters his lungs, followed by others that lead to rounds of fitted coughs. He feels something slide in beside him,_

_"Kent? Kent! Wake up we gotta go."_

_Blinking wearily, he can't help it but look and he sees a shadow in his line of sight, the early morning sun rise blaring shades of red that outline the shadow. Suddenly the ground begins to shake, the smell of burning flesh gets closer. Angry hissings and roars echo across the land as the shadow turns itself around, seeming to cover him._

_Suddenly the shadow in front of him, g **uarding** him, is suddenly tossed away like paper, he hears its grunt as it hits the ground some feet away. He isn't sure what happened but he opens his eyes fully just in time to see a mangled, smokey, grinning face staring down at him, salvia coating its teeth, glaring wetly off the rays of the sun._

_The creature was perched atop the car, its weight jerking the automobile jarringly up before it came crashing down on its back wheels again when the creature evened out its weight. It heaved, tongue appearing to slither as it crawled in an undulating, cat-in-prey mode, motion across the car roof. It had two bulbous golden eyes, blank of expression, staring out at him, accompanied by an eerie grin._

_It's stomach was bulbous, swollen and distended, apparently it was well fed. On what he wished not to know. Their eyes meet and it heaved a breath, putrid and rotted accompanied by a scream, a male scream, then another different scream, then finally a soft mewling noise, one you would expect to hear from a newborn canid pup. It repeated the little repertoire again, and Kent did the only thing he could do._

_He screamed._

_As quickly as silence descended upon them it was broken by a loud, sharp bellow that blew hot steaming air into the ghouls face and soon after he was suddenly in the air, the ground seemingly so, so far away. His heart left in his throat and all he saw was the bright, orange sky - Kent twisted every so slightly midair and ended up landing on his stomach. Body crashing into the hard packed ground headfirst like a rag doll, Kent felt every bone in his body rattle and the sharp pain of skinned knees and elbows. Dust rose from the ground and went upwards, shrouding the Ghoul in a veil for a few seconds._

“Kent!"

_Voices, real and fake, swirled around him, none of them recognizable as though they came through his ears like he shoved cotton in them._

"Kent!"

_Something warm crept down his face. Raising a shaky hand attached to a sore wrist, Kent touched his brow and let out a soft squeak. Before he knew it, tears pushed their way out of his eyes and dripped down his face as he lay there in the dust, refusing to open his eyes._


	4. Chapter 4

Most of Kents most precious memories from his previous life - of the 200 plus years before his ghoulification - had always been about his mother. 

He had grown up on the south side of Boston with his mother, father, brother and sister. He didn't remember much of his old life, just bits and pieces, though he guessed that was as far better then any other Ghoul could have gotten. 

He remembered his father owned a repair company- a small one, not like any of the big chains who's stores you would often see dot the corners of nearly every block in the city. It was his father who taught him how to fix things and Kent often believed he had him to thank for figuring out how to tune and fix old radios, often wondering what he would have been doing in Goodneighbor if he hadn't.. 

His mother was a waitress with a love for radio stories. She had gotten him into the Silver Shroud when it first started airing, and the love blossomed-early mornings and late nights spent listening to the radio, listening to old episodes while being giddy with excitement for the prospect of new ones.

He doesn't know why he's thinking about stuff like this. The memories hurt even after so long, but he guessed it had something to do with the fact that he had woken up to his mother sitting slouched in the corner of the room, taking the place of the skeleton in the blue dress.

_No_

No that was wrong. Not taking the place. She _was_ the skeleton. After all, why would a skeleton in the middle of a dilapidated house wear such clean familiar hospital attire. Just seeing her in that made him feel funny, or maybe that was the fever cooking him from the inside out. Heat was rolling and billowing in his head like a sandstorm, but it wasn't a outside hot, no it was back to being an inside hot, like he had swallowed the sun. All of a sudden his short, quick respiration stopped as a sound began to rise from somewhere beyond his field of sight. The skeleton had moved. It was looking at him now and it was different. 

The skeleton was now a woman covered with thinly stretched, ash-gray skin. She seemed without sex. Most of her hair was gone; her breasts were gone; her mouth hung unhinged and even though he was certain she was dead, breath rasped through it harshly. To Kent, she looked like pictures he had seen of mummies, or the bodies he had seen left in the hot lands of the waste—not decayed but shriveled; cured; dry; ageless.

Yes, that’s what she was now, not a mother but a mummy. There was only that harsh sigh of her respiration, like a light breeze through hay-stubble. How could she still be alive? Kent wondered … and what God would be cruel enough to put him through looking at it? To what purpose? It had to be a joke, a big cosmic horselaugh.

But Kent shook his head, of course his mother was dead, not because it had been nearly 200 plus years since she had died, but because of the white dress the skeleton was wearing that was blaring against his eyes so fiercely, it hurt to look at. Mamma had been dressed in white when Poppa took him and George and Sally to see her for the last time in the sanny-tarium when he was in high school. She had to go to the sanny-tarium so everybody else in the family wouldn’t catch what she had. TB was catching. You could die. 

Fire licked along his frame as he tried to drag himself awake again. It's too hot, flames kissing along his rugged silhouette, sweat running trickles along his back, and part of him wonders if his mother felt just as bad as he did before she died, if she was in just the same amount of pain he was in. He doubt it, maybe that was the benefits of dying in hospital, no pain. 

_Better then dying in a cold, miserably wretched house._

_Wait...My God, am I dying?_

Something about that statement seemed to stir something in him. Fighting the nausea that suddenly assaulted him, he leaned up heavily, supported by his arm, his eyes closed as his head started pounding. Shit, he really didn't feel too great. 

Something touched him. Igniting his shoulder in fire. 

"Wake up, Kiddo, come on Kent. Wake up…"

"Mom?" He murmured, his voice cracked and broken and his throat so dry he almost choked on the words. Someone was holding him - 

"Kent?"

His brow creased- familiar, calloused hands pressing against his chest and shoulder, making him hiss with pain. " _Don't._ " he gasped, not sure if he'd actually spoken the words out loud or not. Everything was fuzzy, it was hard to think straight, and he tried to retreat back into the dark.

When the voice ordered him to open his eyes, Kent struggled to do as he was told, but his lids felt glued shut. Everything hurt - his skin was burning, live with pins and needles, his head thumped in time with his heartbeat. Even the effort of drawing breath had become exhausting to the point he had gotten the notion in his head that maybe it was time to stop breathing all together. Why did the voice have to shout all the time? 

Suddenly a shrilly chittering started too echo through his aching head and ears, canceling out the voice. And he didn't know why, but Kent decided to look at the skeleton. And sure enough, it had started clacking its jawbone out of no where and the skeletons mandible had been cracked right down the middle, a successful break that caused the lower jaw to look like it was separated into two...

Actually....it kinda looked like....

_ _ _  
_Pain_. 

_It permeated his entire being from the moment awareness returned. He took shallow breaths hoping to dispel the bone deep ache that ran from his left shoulder all the way to his hip. His skin burned, blades ran through his muscles and even his bones throbbed with each breathed. He couldn't help the quiet moan that escaped his lips as he tried unsuccessfully to move, to pick himself off the ground._

_He heard it walking towards him before her saw it, coming back for dinner and he knew, without a doubt, that this time, he was the main course, and Kent, who had never wished harm on any soul his entire life, hoped like hell that the damn thing choked on him. He closed his eyes and listened intently as the creature drew nearer, a almost insect like skittering noise in its limbs. Time slowed to a crawl. His heart pulsed loudly in his chest, the beats deafening him as they pounded out the rhythm of his life._

_His breaths deepened. He pushed back the pain that hammered at him as he felt the creature stop before him. The rotten scent of decay permeated the air around it nearly causing him to gag. He could feel the creature's hot putrid breath as it bent towards him. His eyes popped open and he found himself looking into silver glowing eyes._

_He saw the jaws of the creature open, putrid odors emitting from its insect like mouth, saliva glittering off its teeth as it prepared to strike. Suddenly shots rang out from somewhere to his right and he couldn't help laughing at the timing of his rescuer. The creature fell forward barreling heavily into him._

_"Kent! Down!"_

_Kent had followed the voice without question, dropping to the ground once more, sore arms pulled up over his head, eyes never leaving the horrible creature that was slavering at him even as it lay writhing on the ground. The bullet that rang out and made his ears ring had burrowed itself into the monster's shoulder, a temporary solution. Mayor Hancock had managed another rapid shot, this one just barely grazing the things temple as it moved to right itself up._

_Kent heard foot steps running up towards him, yanking him up by the arm as the two of them watched as the creature hoisted itself up within mere moments of its tumble, and it didn't take a brain scientist to realize its was pissed it's prey was playing hard to get. It looked like it was throwing a temper tantrum, slamming its stilt thin limbs in the ground with enough force that Kent was surprised it didn't break it's legs upon impact as it kicked up dirt and various other forms of debris._

_But it was also facing the wrong way, it was pointed towards the direction of the tree line, seeming to be too enthralled by its temper tantrum to notice that it's prey was slowly backing away from it, ready to make a mad dash._

_They were so close. So close, had they just been a little bit farther then they coulda just made a run for it. But Kent didn't know what happened next, that part would forever remain fuzzy. Maybe something stepped on a branch, maybe some animal chose that exact moment to let out its call he did not know, all he knew was the creature turned suddenly, and started to stalk them._

_Click_

_John paled as he heard the empty click of the shotgun, his gaze flickering to the gun in his hands. As the beast continued to stalk them, John took the opportunity to attempt to load his gun. While the beast took its own opportunity, using the Ghouls sudden distraction as a opening to run hellbent at the two._

_Kent couldn't remember what happened afterwards. He remembered from the corner of his eye, John blinking stupidly, horrified, frozen to the spot by what he was seeing. It took a few seconds for his instincts to kick into gear. The beast had Kent in an iron grip, cruel hooked claws digging into his flesh. Kent wriggled, trying to yank himself free...._

_Razor sharp teeth flashed and descended._

. . .

Watching as Kent slowly descended back to oblivion, John got to his feet, sighing heavily, part of him wishing that he had not decided to go on this rescue escapade alone, hoping someone saw the flare before shit hit the fan, or noticed he wasn't back and came looking for them. Fucking wishing he had Amari here to help him, Amari was as smart as he was useless when it came to things like this, she could help, but that's the panic-stricken yammering in his head talking. He needed room to think, needed to keep a clear head. Goodneighbors lovable radio-host depended on it. But he didn't want to leave, instead choosing to pace the room with his hands behind his back, the soft lull of rain calming his nerves but not by much.

"Hey, kiddo. How you doing?" John suddenly asked Kent loudly out of the blue. Kiddo was a nickname Kent hated with a passion, and John hoped it would elicit some response, but Kents eyes remained closed, his blooded forehead creased with pain, quick, shallow breath escaping noisily from his cracked lips. John carried on anyway, sure that on some level, Kent could hear him. If not for Kents benefit then his own. He was probably gonna go batshit with no one to talk too, let alone with there being someone in the room who couldn't talk.

He kept up conversation about many things for a while, just random shit that came to his head. He didn't even realize he was sitting on the floor with Kents head on his lap until he was letting has hand smooth against his head.

There were dozens of little nicks and scratches on Kent's ashen face he noticed, which, John assumed, were from being tossed around like a ragdoll and he winced at the deep gash just below what would had been his hairline. It was a clean cut but there was a huge lump underneath and it had bled a lot. The wound was going to need some stitches to help it close properly, but that was the least of Kent's worries. Stitches could wait. There were huge bruises on one of his knees and a crescent of bruising on his chest that was rapidly darkening to a spectacular reddy purple and John frowned. 

"Really got yourself into trouble this time, huh?"

Kent had suffered busted ribs before, as had he, and though it was never fun, it wasn't life threatening either, especially for a Ghoul. But for how many stims he had pumped into the smaller Ghoul, they should have at least been healed as with all his injuries, and part of John thought back to the beast he fought in the old church and a sudden chill rose up his back at the thought that maybe the bite he was so worried about had something to do with all of this...but even still the bite John himself had received from the beast at the church hadn't affected him this much, whatever effects had worn off over time. 

Maybe Kent just had a stronger dose and was going through what he would have gone through. But those were thoughts he didn't want to have cause he didn't have answers to them, and the ones he did were not good, but it didn't matter. Once they got back to Goodneighbor everything would be fine, Amari would take care of it, and The Silver Shroud radio would keep on buzzing away as it always did.

"Least you stopped trying to play "Hero Shroud" eh?" He chuckled, taking out a cigarette from his frock.

_Oh wasn't that just a trip._

Ever since the incident with Sinjin, Kent still had attempted to take on the outfit of the silver shroud by himself, and on occasion, people would often find him passed out in an alley early in dawn because he tried to fight triggermen the night before and they pitied him too much to kill him. It was incidents like that, that made John wonder if Kent knew how lucky he was that he had people who thought of him like a "Show-Obsessed" little brother, including John himself, and how some adored him to much to wanna paint the walls with him..Still, despite knowing it made him feel like he had a purpose, John was happy when Kent finally gave up the gig. Even if it only took Irma nagging in his ear to talk some sense into the smaller ghoul until he found himself in more trouble then waking up bruised in an Alley. 

As John thought about it with a smoke between his teeth, his eyes drift back to Kents hip, the one pointed towards the ceiling and he grimaced. Blood and pus oozed sluggishly out of the two wounds, and if John had to guess, by now Kents entire leg must have been throbbing like a old rotten tooth. 

how long exactly had it been bothering him...  
_ _ _

_John's frantic footsteps fell heavily on the rain-soaked ground, splashing water and mud every-which-way in the darkness. His breath beat out at constant intervals—small clouds of mist that hung for a single brief moment before being pelted through by a thick drop of rain._

_John took no notice of the rain, the cold, or the ache that was slowly growing in his side. All he knew was that he had to keep running. Keep running in the direction he had seen him go-_

_This fight had done nothing but gone from bad to worse. He was still visibly shaking when Kent had pushed him out of the way of the charging beast, though he barely acknowledged it as he watched the creature pick up Kent in its two emaciated thin arms. He looked up just long enough to see the creatures head strike forward but didn't see what it had done before he watched, mortified, as it threw Kent into the direction of the tree line once more like it had before. Only this time Kent never came back out._

_A sudden crackling of thunder rained overhead. But by then the creature seemed almost to disappear, John had gotten one shot off it as it attempted to flee, finally reloading his shotgun and putting a bullet in the creatures shoulder again, the creature flinched then went crashing into the woods, the harsh sound of branches and rubble being crushed under its weight until everything had turned silent. And then the raindrops started falling. Slowly at first, but they had quickly built up into a considerable rain storm that was intent on soaking John through to the bone._

_Though he was plagued with frustration and annoyance at their current predicament, the main thing John felt at the moment was worry, Kent still hadn't come out of the trees and a sudden black feeling began to dig itself into his stomach._

_Shouldering his shotgun, John glanced around desperately trying to gain his bearings and figure out which direction Kent was in._

_"Kent!" John yelled into the trees, slowing his pace for a moment in hopes of receiving an answer. None came. He didn't like that._

_"Kent!" John called again, louder this time._

_Again, no reply. He liked that even less. Suddenly without warning, his ears caught something— footsteps approaching from behind._

_John jumped when he felt a hand on his should and flinched back. He slipped and went down on a knee, wet smelly mud messing up his pants, fumbling with the gun, ready to attempt to shoot whatever had touched him, only for a merger voice to come up from under the rushing sounds of water falling from the sky._

_"Whoa, just me. Sorry."_

_“Fuck,” he cursed; throat dry and sore, when he recognized the voice. Kent was alive. Fuckin’ alive and breathin’ and...bleedin’? “What happened?” he rasped; throat sore and useless._

_Kent's hairless brows furrowed and suddenly he looked like he aged a few years, standing there like a statute being battered by the elements. But John couldn't help but be impressed by the fact the guy was still standing after the shit he had just been through_

_...though maybe not unscathed._

_"Holy Shit, Kent." John said eyeing his companions stomach. A vivid, purpling bruise rode high on Kents stomach surrounded by other, smaller bruises and it hurt just looking at it._

_"It's ok." Kent said offhandedly and John suddenly realized it was like he was trying to make himself small,. "Ok my ass." John scowled at the pattern of bruises as he struggled to get up from the wet mud. The bruises spread out in almost a butterfly shape across his belly, like hand marks and John remembered quickly where they were from. "How are you even walkin?"_

_"Cold helps" Kent gave him a half smile, then extended his arm to help. "Looks worse than it is." Kent helped John get up off of the ground, but suddenly buckled when he placed weight in his leg, nearly doubling over, clutching his leg, breathing deeply._

_"I'm fine." He said when he noticed the concerned look etching itself quiet quickly on Johns face. As if to demonstrate the point, Kent place his hand on one of his knees then somewhat shakily pushed to his feet---John helping him slightly. "I just---just twisted it a little, eh. I'm fine."_

_"But I saw it...I thought it bit---it didn't get you?"_

_"No."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"...Yes." But before John could even voice his objection, his eyes skittering over the various cuts and bruises etching across Kent's exposed skin, Kent was already starting off immediately. "Come on. Let's get gooing before it comes back, eh."_

_John hesitated for a moment, then followed after him closely, biting his lower lip._

__ _ __

_John had never liked rain. He hated the way the water seeped through his clothes, soaking him completely. The way cold engulfed him, freezing his bones to the marrow within their core. He hated the way his body betrayed its weakness, shivering relentlessly to get warm again, even though he was a fucking ghoul and ran hotter then half the people he knew._

_He absolutely hated the effects of getting lost in the rain, because the clouds above decided it was time to give a giant 'Screw you.' to the few decent fellows below in the form of miserable, wet weather. John hated rain, and yet here he was deliberately standing in an autumn downpour trying to clear his head._

_He hated rain, yet at this very moment he wanted to punish himself and apparently standing in the freezing rain was the way to go about it. But in reality it wasn't much of a choice, Kent had stopped wanting to move again for the third time, deciding instead to take a break by sitting on a fallen tree as the cold autumn rain dumped buckets on their heads._

_John shuddered as the rain worked down his collar and slid a shivery trail down his back. His bones ached with the cold it brought and he began to wonder if it was possible to freeze to death during a rain storm. But at the moment it wasn't what he was worried about._

_"You doing okay?"_

_The mile-long walk had been taking a lot longer than either Kent or John had felt comfortable with. John had wanted to get them both to the relative safety of a apparent safe-house where he had been before. There wasn't a path for them to follow and it was getting harder for Kent to make his way through the dense vegetation. Things would be easier once they got to Goodneighbor but it was still a long way away._

_"Yeah," Kent said, his breath coming in gasps and John didn't miss the fact that even when Kent got up he was leaning more heavily on to random things, supporting his weight in soggy branches and discarded boulders._

_"We can rest for a minute more?"_

_No they couldn't, not when they were possibly being followed, if not by the creature who was possibly dead. Then by the members who had escaped John bullets on his way to get Kent_

_....But Kent needed- he wanted_

_Kent shook his head._

_"Kent –"_

_"I'm---fine, Mr Mayor," he had said, swaying on his feet and grabbing a tree harder to keep from falling. He was trembling slightly, his knees knocking together, right eye twitching as the pain in his hip starting blaring to the point it nearly made his vision white._

_"No harm done, just tired is all..."_

_"Kent," John had muttered, before seeing they'd come out of the woods further away from the road than he expected, mud sloshing onto the road from soggy boots._  
_"Kent…."_

_Johns eyes had widened when he turned around_

_The whole time they had been walking in relative silence, Kent had been behind John---now that John actually had a clear view of him even in this downpour, He was shocked by how pale he looked, his face almost pure white tinged with a sickly green._

_"Jesus fuck Kent....are you-"_

_"I'm ok." Kent hobbled to the trunk and used it to straighten up. As if his back hadn't hurt enough, now there was a solid knot working between his shoulder blades and dear god his hip....._

_"Next time, leave the tourist traps to someone else who doesn't mind nature."_

_John nodded, his sense of humor gone for the moment. He looked around the woods behind them for a moment, hoping to god that the thing was dead. Kent still leaned on the tree in a pained hunch. "Come on." He took Kents arm and gave him a nudge toward the road. Outwardly he did his best to project calm but inside the rage was screaming and arguing with the fear of nearly watching Kent have his head chewed off._

_They walked up the road a little while more. Halfway up and off the road however, they came across a gruesome scene._

_The land was peaceful. The rains had slowed down to a mere drizzle and a wind blew peacefully. It was at odds with the gruesome scene in the small clearing Kent and John studied. Grasses were matted and trampled, blood splashed and splattered in bright swaths across the ground like a macabre painting_

_"Poor bastard." John said, shaking his head. "Whatever killed them, they didn't have a chance."_

_Kent gimped under the graceful, draping boughs of a tree and looked up. He stepped back in surprise. "What'd they do to splatter blood all the way up there?" Kent pointed up. Some of the limbs of the tree were coated in drying blood._

_John didn't reply, instead he studied the little bloodied clearing and then frowned. He knelt in the leaf litter and grabbed a twig, using it to push aside some of the leaves._

_"Hey, Kent. I think I found them." The smell of wet rot was much stronger then he had anticipated, burning his eyes and nose. It was a rot he was unfamiliar with. He covered his nose and mouth with his arm against the growing stench. "Man he is ripe."_

_Kent didn't need to see it, he smelt it all the same, a sick stench compounded of blood, fecal matter, vomit, and decay. It was a ghastly rich sick-dead smell._

_Suddenly his vision started to double. Kent blinked, leaning against the tree for support._

_"Guy doesn't look like he's been dead for less then an hour or so...but he smells like he's been dead for a week"_

_Kent's legs started to give out from underneath him, his head felt fuzzy, it was getting hard to breathe, the tree wasn't helping his balance, his leg and hip were pulsating._

_"Mr Mayor, I don't feel so good...." he choked out._  
  
_It was the tone in the other Ghouls voice that made the blood flowing in his veins feel like ice water. A sort of harsh gravel in a otherwise up until then pure spoken tone._

_John turned slowly, wind blew against his face and something in his stomach spasmed painfully as he watched Kents wayward gaze turn inward, his expression frozen in a grimace of horror. And John for a second thought he was gonna puke looking at the carnage._

_"Hold Kent..." he commanded, "You're alright," he mutters, and as if the words cut his strings like a puppet, Kent suddenly hiccuped, lurching forward and collapsed heavily against him, John's death grip on him getting tighter, tighter when the smaller ghouls lower body finally gave out._

_He shoulda know something was wrong more then Kent had been letting on and suddenly something tells him if he holds on tight enough, shelters him against the bloodstained ground with his own body, then everything would be alright, then this would all be for something, not nothing._

_Kent's water soaked clothes were soaking his front; perspiring into his skin like a hot syrup, and permeating from his clothes was the acrid copper smell that made his nose ache._

_The smell of death._

_Despite the thick film it caused in his throat, he swallowed and begged the fallen man to get up, His only response was a weak puff of icy tendrils escaping his mouth, and John grew increasingly frantic. This couldn't be the same man that just a day ago was spending hours talking to Nora joyfully about pre-war life, gushing to her about the Silver Shroud with all the giddiness of a little kid – no, this frail man, looking so weak couldn't be Kent._

_"C'mon!" He shook him, his heart pounding so fast that he was sure it would break his rib-cage. "You gotta get up!"_

_Another breath; slower and weaker than the last._

_"Kent?!"_

_He searched the weathered face for signs of waking, but got no response, and his attempts to wake him were failing. He felt the panic try and take over, but stubbornly pushed it aside. Was he really so quick to fall apart? Taking a deep breath, the rushing sound in his ears finally stopped, leaving his head aching and the world eerily quiet as he drew on his reserves of survivor's adrenaline, then hosted the unconscious Ghoul on his shoulder_

_. . ._

_It was a naked feeling, being out in the open with nothing but trees and a unconscious ghoul hanging off him like a prize to any would be scavengers who wanted to test their luck. Two hours passed, and nothing. It was getting dark, and the temperature was dropping, fast when the rains started up again. John had hoped beyond hope that they'd run into some sort of cabin – a shed… Anything so that Kent and him wouldn't have to suffer the elements and be exposed for an entire night. But it seemed luck was not on their side._

_All the buildings this side of the commonwealth had nearly crumbled to the elements, those still standing John wouldn't trust to handle a cough. But John knew that some of these houses were still intact to handle them for at least the rest of the night, which was slowly growing closer and even though Goodneighbor wasn't that far, he didn't trust dragging the ghoul all the way to the community was a smart idea, let alone in the dark._

_Finally, He saw a speck on the horizon. Then four. Then, as they neared, a whole plot of houses came into view. John got up as close to the houses as he could get without potentially disturbing whatever resides inside. The first house wasn't very secure or warm and only had a little bit of supplies. So he moved on._

_John went through several houses, finding them all of similar quality as the rest. Most were rotted away in places and would not provide adequate shelter unless fixed up. With his luck however, the last house was still fairly insulated and seemed secure. He highly doubted the skeleton in the corner wearing the tattered remains of a blue flower night dress would give them much trouble._

_The darkening sky only made the rest of the abode more unsettling. There were cobwebs in the darkest corners of the living room, streams of light from the setting sun bursting through gaps of some of the boarded up windows, layers of dust covering the cracked furniture, and torn couches and curtains. Walking towards the back of the house, he passed the kitchen, already raided and empty save for some silverware and glasses. He passed the bedroom which were still furnished as if the previous tenants had just disappeared amidst their normal routine, save for some missing bed-sheets. Though judging by the corpse downstairs it may have been safer to say maybe the rest of the family disappearing wasn't so fare fetched._

_Kent had been shivering violently by the time John was through with looking at the house and had dragged him inside laying him on the floor of the living room. Kent had thrashed accidentally when his leg buckled, and had broken a old pottery vase. But it didn't take long to lay him down on the floor the living room-he opted to not take the tattered couch just in case Kent thrashed and fell off. What once had been a rug was gone, leaving only a hard almost concrete floor. But the front door opened up to the living room automatically and the windows not boarded up gave a perfect view of the back and front of the now open yards from where he stood, perfect for keeping visual._

_Kent looked positively ashen, his complexion pasty. It was worrying John that despite the shivering, that Kent hadn't even moved, wasn't making any sounds except for his labored breathing, like his body had just decided to shut down._

_He could see that Kent was still too pale and his breathing was coming out in quick, visible breathes. He was obviously shivering from the cold, that was a given, John had yet to regain feeling in his cold hands, but then John remembered the heat emitting off the Ghoul, and suddenly a shiver ran down his back. It was obvious Kent had a fever, and he couldn't tell whether it had gotten better or worse with their stint in the weather._

_John took a seat next to the Ghoul, rubbed his hands together to make them less cold, then went back to examining Kents wounds. The flesh around the two puncture holes which were still oozing, was still purple and red, obviously very tender, so he didn't dare touch it. In all his years of reading, John knew his way around a description – but at the sight of the blemishing, his skin was too grisly even for his tastes to describe._

_Kent shuddered violently as the sun started to set. And without thinking of what he was doing, John laid his red frock over Kents upper body, the fabric still rich with left over body heat, and waited as Kents powerful shudders died down. Relieved, he watched the rise and fall of his chest for a few moments, before everything finally slowed down in his mind, and he registered the bone-chill in his own body. It was making him rather sleepy, and it wasn't long before he was pushing himself back up against the wall with his arms crossed on his knees, laying his head on him arms._

_In and out his consciousness swam; dimly hearing the crackle of the thunder and the animals singing when he would pull out of his restless sleep. Ghouls didn't need to sleep much. It was a given, but his body tried to keep him relaxed despite his brain surging with constant anxiety over Kent, and the conflict made him repeat several instances of short napping, to barely registering that he was trying to wake up._

_Pushing further into wakefulness, his eyes focused on the moon hovering in the sky. He had awoken to the rapid pounding of his heart and an aching burn of adrenaline firing through him. His body had acted instinctively while he was half-conscious and he tried focusing on what had frightened him. Then he remembered._

_Pushing himself up, John made it to one of the windows. Rows upon rows of dead trees, skeletal and bleached, looking as though they were clawing at the sky and bathed in moonlight that glowed off the glistening rain where all he was met with._

_Then came the noise from beyond the trees. A clicking noise._

_Kk-kk-kk-kkr._

_Then a moan came from behind him, and John wished the sun would hurry and rise_


	5. Chapter 5

As the moon slowly started to rise above the wooded horizon, a breeze drifted through the whispering wood, spinning leaves along the forest floor and sighing between the branches. It followed a lone figure as it dragged itself to a rushing river that was hastening through the brambles. The calm descending waters having no qualm in accepting the tiny trail of blood that ran along the ground, wishing to join it in its never ending voyage towards the boundless ocean.

A Feral Ghoul lay slumped on the bank of the riverside, a faint whimper escaping its lips and a bloody claw like hand layed on top of a deep and ugly wound that had settled against its side.

The Feral bore its teeth as it tensed its muscles, but when the pain became too much to bear it simply released the force that was allowing it to barely cling to life. The Feral stretched out its other hand and began to painfully slide its body across the floor towards the flowing waters of the river. More blood trickled out from the deep puncture wound and it whimpered in agony several times before it was able to muster the endurance to desperately try and crawl away.

The moon high above sent cold light to illuminate the trees around the Feral in shadowed light and each seemed to him to be a threat. Small sounds of terror taken away by the breeze to carry deeper in. The shadows seemed to move and shift around her. The Feral's eyes followed the swaying limbs, widening at every creak of wood, every snap of a twig.

A shadow moved. A branch lifted. Long, thin limbs that had been hiding amongst the branches reached out of the dark while dim, silver eyes grew ever nearer. A herd of radstags were taking a break from their journeys close by when the ground began to rumble in the rhythm of a large quadruped on the move. They looked around, honking and squeaking to one another in distress and when they did, their lookout spied the ominous sight coming up the road. Had the Feral turned it's back it would have seen; probably would have struggled harder. However it didn't get too, for as it was almost three feet from the river, a thin foot came down, spearing it through the leg, while a pair of mighty jaws grabbed it's neck, crushing its vertebrae and killing it instantly.

A flash of lightning lit up the entire sky with its brilliant, white glow as it zigzagged from the dark, ominous clouds as the beast inspected its kill. Within seconds, a thunderous boom followed. Torrents of rain fell. The radstag herd had fled mighty quickly when the creature first laid the first strike. Many other creatures, those who had not witnesses the attack, hid away, not wishing to become wet from the rain. Another flash of lighting lit the dark sky with its zigzagged form. A thunderous clap followed the light, sounding not even a second after the arc of plasma burst from the dark gray, angry clouds.

The creature rose its head to the sky as the rain began to fall. Feathered flyers took flight from the forest and lifted towards the sky as a fierce roar split the air. Suddenly the wind blew, and with it came a scent, a scent it knew all to well, the want to feed had been pushed to the side, instead tasking itself to follow the wind.

It been following the scent for a while; the scent of its blood, the scent of their blood. The scent of THE MAN—the feel of THE MAN—had led to this place and then stopped. Where had they gone? It didn’t know.

All it knew was it's prey had gone boldly along the roads while it skulked amongst the darkness and crept in the shadows of what was once man's buildings. It slung long arms up to roof tops where it stood and surveyed, and loped into the darkness. It dropped into the shadows of clearings and never once did it loose track, following the scent, drool dripping from its maw.

The beast walked for almost another mile before the smell of aging blood and weathered decay hit its nose, sending its nerves in a heightened frenzy, and as it followed the scent, it came upon a tree.

By the tree covered in damp leaves that shined in the moonlight was a corpse, but too it's disappointment it wasn't the body he was hoping to find. But the creature recognized the appearance of this human almost immediately. It was one of the ones that brought him here, only now it was nothing more then a grinning dead man with bloatfly maggots crawling briskly hither and yon on his face, a sickening sweet smell bloating out from the body. Curious, the creature leaned forward and sniffed at the corpse. It had large portions of muscle and skin torn away from its body. The destruction of flesh and exposed bone lead to a open abdominal cavity just below the rib cage, the skin and most of the muscles attached to the ribs had been ripped off, exposing the rotted lungs through the ribcage.

Suddenly hunger began to gnaw at the creatures belly. This wasn't one of his kills and the potential scent of _what_ had killed it had washed away with the continuous rain. But he never passed up the opportunity of a free meal, and soon the ravenous sounds of chewing filled the air as it tore at the flesh which sloughed off easily, the fat and fluid filled tissue making a plopping noise as it struck the ground. Fat and sinew and rot was scooped up hungrily, the smacking sounds as it ate with enough ferocity to make someone gag.

An arm came off in his hand and he tossed it aside with the absent air of a man who has just finished with a turkey drumstick he has been nibbling on, and soon there was nothing left of the corpse saved for a discarded arm and some gore, the rest of the remains slowly making its way to the creatures gullet. With its belly full, but it's hunger not satiated. It left the remains behind for the elements to claim, and continued the search, the rot and decay still hanging from its jaws.  
_ _ _

The creature kept deep within the trees so as to remain hidden as it walk along side the road. His stomach still growled with hunger, even though it was still distended from his last feeding. But his feeding didn't matter, he knew his hunger would only be satiated once he got his teeth on his escaped prey, only then would he feel full. He could kill and eat as much as he wanted, but until his escaped prey was dead and between his jaws would he continue to hunger, no matter how much he killed.

As he walked along the trees, his finely tuned senses honed in on the various sounds that echoed across the lands. Up the road was a small herd of radstag, moving from their feeding grounds to their resting zone just beyond the small lake ahead skittishly. Towards his right, the sounds of mongrels yipping in fear as they sensed his presence, bolting into a run. And to his left....

_to his left_

His head turned to his left, cocking to the side, the quills on his head twitching in anticipation. To his left he heard voices, and slowly he stalked along the line. Until the rough thorny bushes opened up to a small clearing full of broken down houses....  
_ _ _

 _Kent_...

 _Kent_...!

Oh God, what does _he_ want?

_Thoroughly annoyed to have been woken once again, Kent figured it was probably time he answered the pestering calls. He couldn't quite make out the tone of the distant voice calling him, but he was sure it was his mayor. It was always his mayor. What did he want? Why couldn't he just let him sleep?_

_Keeennt...! It sounded a bit closer this time. More insistent, too._

_Okay, okay...I'm getting up..._

_But his limbs wouldn't move. His eyes wouldn't open. His voice was only an echo in his own mind and a hint of alarm quickly spread through his semi-conscious reasoning. The fire was gone, his blood did not boil as hotly as it did before, so why wouldn't his body respond?_

_Kent could never remember a time when opening his eyes had proved to be so difficult. Finally, after several frustrated attempts, his eyelids obeyed. And with the slight crack they created in opening, it suddenly felt to Kent that he had opened the flood gates to a whole new reservoir of pain._

_"Aaaagh..." He moaned, flinching as his senses fully returned. It felt like a knife had pierced right through his skull, and the constant throbbing of his pulse made it feel as if someone was sawing that knife in and out of his head over and over._

_Slowly a bent form crystallized and took shape from the rest of the swirling, blurry images clouding Kent's vision. Kent blinked and continued to stare up at him, waiting for the fog to clear._

_"Kent," the voice tried again. "Are you all right? Can you talk? Can you move?" Kent blinked again, the pain he was feeling making it hard to make sense of any of the questions._

_God, he was confused. Was it raining? He wasn't sure. It was so cold, that he was sure of; there was a pattering against a... _window_ , yeah that's what it was called, and the sound was soothing. His eyes started to flutter, and then fingers press cruelly around the edges of his hip and Kent jerks suddenly awake, gasping in pain, eyes flying around to search out the one that would cause him harm. They blink when they see only the mayor._

There's a gasp of relief.

"Kent."  
_ _ _

Kent had rejoined the land of the living the way he always did: nought to sixty in three seconds flat - and like always, he had managed to scare the crap out of someone in the process.

This time however, that someone happened to be John.

John had been leaning over Kent, inspecting his wound, having given up trying to wake him in favor of some much needed wound inspection, and cleaning if he could manage. He had been inspecting it for quite awhile now, and now he couldn't stop himself from grimacing at the sight of the wound. The wound looked angry even worse then before, the bite marks bruise around the edges looked to have gotten worse, giving shades of bright yellow, deep purple, and a sharp blue dark enough to look black, and he was still bleeding sluggishly, John watches as the back of mind his winces.

"This is gonna hurt," he warned the half-conscious ghoul, "Sorry…"

With his teeth, he wrenched the cap off a bottle he had found in the kitchen with a small squeak, before exposing as much of Kent's wound as possible. He had opted to instead clean it rather then attempt to lance it, he just couldn't bring himself to hurt Kent worse then he had to, even with knowing what his next action could do.

What little was in his stomach lurched and almost emptied as he poured the contents of the bottle onto the wound and pressed down with a piece of cloth he had found. Kent's agonized grunt and the smell of blood and aged liquor all mixed together and made him sick. He was use to the smell of blood, but something about the blood that oozed out of Kents wound made it smell putrid, and John wasn't sure how long he sat there, letting the liquid seep into his wound, even as his own hands steadily darkened with Kents blood-the longer he pressed down, the more sounds Kent made, and the more his eyes fluttered beneath his eyelids.

Then all of a sudden, Kent started to cough, weakly at first... then more violently as his drew air into his lungs, and John can't help but look on, transfixed, not paying attention to what he's doing. He was certain however, that he must have hit a sore spot accidentally, cause all of a sudden as he rubbed his companions's arm soothingly in a effort to quell his writhing, he suddenly found himself jerking back when Kent suddenly sat upright, eyes flying open in a pained panic, a hand gripping the one he had on his hip.

_"Kent?"_

"What the hell are you tryin' to kill me with?" he coughed out, suddenly and hoarsely, partially oblivious to the fact both of John's eyes snapped open wide and latched onto him like he could physically hold him in place with them. John seemed unable to speak, mouth agape and the barest of smiles daring to rip across his face.

"Woah," Kent let out a squeak as the world spun backwards, grunting as his wounds were exacerbated when John made the motion of scooping him up close and tightly, that barest of smiles still inching its way across his face. Kent own facial expression turned slightly into one of awkwardness and confusion, but also soft fondness as he leant into the warmth the mayor let off, happy for a soft heat that wasn't a blistering wildfire scourging in his veins.

Suddenly without warning just as he begun to relax, a hand came up swiftly behind Kent's head with a hard slap, the motion hard enough that he was sure it had bruised his brain as it rocked his head forward a little as he brought up his own hand to rub at the sore spot, wincing when he found it.

"What the heck was that fur?!" He said slightly slurred, looking at the mayor incredulously.

But John didn't answer, that dopey smile was still on his face, even as he thought of all the ways he could think of too throttle Kent when they got home for lying to him about his injuries and driving him and his nerves up the wall. Plenty of time enough to teach Kent the proper etiquette when it came to what you could and couldn't do with your Mayor, with not lying to them being the focal point.

Instead however, a soft, frustrated grumble burbled inside his throat. It looked for a moment to Kent like the Mayor just might start to argue, but a second later his shoulders slumped as he chuckled burying his face into the crook of poor confused Kent's shoulder, even as he flinched with surprise, shaking his head in disbelief.  
_ _ _

As John did his best to continue to wash the wound with what limited equipment he had, Kent did his best to try to move, succeeded in raising his left forearm and hand off the ground. It felt like it was weighted with wet sand, but it lifted, though his skin still stoked remnants off fire. He'd take the victory where he could, considering they were still in the middle of nowhere with some crazy creature still possibly after them and therefore, excuse his French, still fucked.

John hit another sore spot, and finally he put his palm up toward John, universal signal to stop. Then he raised his hand to the bridge of his nose and tried to pinch back the headache tapping against his temples, not seeing John's sideways frown.

Kent face pinched as John tied a discarded piece of cloth around the wound. By then his leg felt like wood but must not be, because it was trembling.

"That's all I can do for now until we get you to Amari."

Conversation had been short between them. As near as he was, John's eyes were intense and focused. It was the first time since they'd escaped that John felt even remotely like himself. Well, except for the bloodstains and the outline of a faded healing bruise on his jaw that stretched down to his jutting collar bone. Two things Kent wasn't happy with, even as John did his best to make them look unnoticeable by twisting his head a certain way. John could have saved himself and didn't. He had stayed for him. More than once. This was all Kent's fault for sticking his nose...or lack thereof...where it didn't belong, and he knew that and he knew he didn't deserve that kind of loyalty from anyone, especially from someone who stuck his neck out for him on more then one occasion. But, no. wow was not the time to wallow in those thoughts, too flog himself for his many past mistakes. he was just to tired to do that. Still he couldn't help but let guilt drift his eyes to the ground.

"The monster?" Kent said softly, breaking the silence, and suddenly it seemed like his voice carried for miles.

"I haven't seen or heard anything for some time" John said as he slowly and as gently as possible wiped the remaining ooze away with another piece of Kent's pant leg, before tossing the soiled articles of cloth away.

In the back of Kent's mind, Kent supposed he should have been glad for that, but it made him more uneasy than anything else. He didn't like it. And from the look on his face, neither did John.

John had never gotten up close to see in the creatures eyes, but Kent did, and he saw the glint in the creatures eyes, a look he had once seen before, in the eyes of a feral hound guarding a slab of meat it seemed almost willing to die for. The possessiveness that shined in the monsters pupils was one only reserved for the most merciless of killers, of hunters. and in the back of his mind, Kent knew with a look like that, that there was no way the creature would sit idly by while it's prey got away, he highly doubt it was even capable of giving up.

"How long was I out?"

"Couple hours."

"It gonna be light soon," was all he said, the soft fingers of sleep lightly stroking at his brain.

John nodded, then stood up. He helped Kent prop up against the wall and Kent watched sluggishly as John pace a tight line at the foot of the ragged couch. It was a cliché, but it really did seem like anger radiated off his Mayor. Every line and groove of his face was deeper, every muscle tense as if he were ready to launch a full bombardment.

But Kent didn't have time to pity whoever or whatever was on Johns kill list, he felt like crap. He looked even worse from John's perspective– he looked like what crap wanted to be when crap grew up. His face was pallid except for a hectic flush on his cheeks, and there were dark patches under his eyes. Beads of sweat were still standing out on his forehead. But he didn't seem as hot as he was before when John touched him. He was not delirious either much to John's relief, but his words were slow and slurry, and much of his skin was dry now, the sweat evaporated.

John took no hope or comfort in that however. Kent may have been awake now, but something about the sudden turn around made him even more eager to get back home. Besides, John needed to stretch, to take a shower, and to drink too much of something that ended with the letter's DKA.

And Kent-

Well, Kent just needed to be unconscious for a little while.

John shook his head.

No, he needed to be _safe_ , _then_ he could be as unconscious as he wanted to be, but until then....

"Hey, hey, hey… don't fall asleep."

Fingers snap in front of Kent's eyes, the sharp noise splitting something apart in his chest. He hadn't even realized he had closed his eyes as he had relaxed a little, breathing hard, trying to catch up with his heartbeat, which was fast and thready. His brain was moving very slowly; so slowly that he was certain that while he was sleeping, someone had poured molasses all over his interior gears.

He blinks… once, twice, three times… really slowly like he has all the time in the world. He doesn't even register the words being spoken to him, just recognizes the tone. It's gruff… John's throat, whiskey and radiation burned.

"Mhm…" he murmurs to the ceiling. There was a deep rattling sound in his chest, like padded chains, but his brain is moving to slow for him to realize or care. He doesn't care. Doesn't have the strength to care… the flickering stars in front of his eyes won't let him care.

He could swear he heard John gulp. John mutters something about the sun _it'll be up soon. Just hold on, alright._ something he doesn't catch right away, but again it's in that soothing, deep voice, that just makes Kent wanna cry and hit something, anything, his mayor preferably even if he'll get into trouble for it because he doesn't deserve that from John. Not anymore. Not after everything. He doesn't deserve someone freaking out over him for all the trouble he causes.

"Just hold on..." like an order.

Yeah, Kent can do orders. He can follow them just fine… when he wants to. Does he wanna now? Maybe.

He breathes a little deeper, a little faster, a little on the verge of hyperventilating and wouldn't that just be nice. Choking on the air while someone is sawing their way through your head and at the same time dumping buckets of kerosene in your veins... what a way to go. He licks his lips, takes a deep breath and almost chokes on it as he whines at the pounding in his head. He sounds like a child, ready to burst into tears, but he doesn't care... he doesn't care about anything anymore, but how much his head hurts so bad, so, so bad and why he can't seem to move right and he doesn't care about fear and tears, he just wants to go home.

Suddenly arms wrapped around him, pulling him in close against a soft wall of warmth. Safety. Familiarity. Solid comfort. He doesn't know who it was for but he's willing to take it if the person has no objections. Fingers curl into the persons pant legs like a anchor to ground himself as his thoughts slowly start to come and piece together. As his thoughts slowly piece together, the realization of who's holding him causes him to try and sit up but he lets out a strangled cry as pain lanced through his chest. Each shuddering breath sending agony through him. His head felt foggy, he couldn’t think straight. His mouth tasted like copper.

He doesn't know how long he's held for. There's a someone shushing him generously, a hand trailing up and down his spine, and he knows for certain that he's not all there, cause the skeleton in the corner besides them is still chattering it's teeth at him even as he shoves his face into the willing crook of the arm and stares at it sluggishly, trying his best to relax against the warmth given to him. But even the skeleton doesn't say anything and soon he can't even hear the shushing or the ruffling of his clothes under hand. It's like the world has gone mute save for the thumping of his heart which he could feel rattling against his rib cage.

_Thump Thump_

_Thump Thump_

Suddenly, the sudden warmth he relaxed into is relinquished, only thing left was two hands on his shoulders as John pulled his body away from him.

_Thump-Thump Thump-Thump_

_Thump-Thump Thump-Thump_

Then the warmth's completely gone, and Kent's left to turn his body around and nestle his shoulders into the wall, pressing his throbbing head against the cold concrete. He took in a couple a shallow breaths, exhaling through his mouth. The pain in his head was starting to spread, burn throughout his thoracic cavity and he could feel it quicken in his stomach. "Think I'm gonna throw up."

But John doesn't respond. He got up, he got up and he's looking out the window, having wiped away the cold misty fog to give him a view. He's there for a long while. Just staring out the window as Kent released a horrible wet cough, swallowing back the bile in his throat. He closed his eyes tight, trying to will away the nausea rolling in the pit of his stomach and willing his mind to keep him alert behind his heavy lids. But his mind seems to have trouble focusing on anything besides the thumping of his heartbeats.

_Thump-Thump Thump-Thump_

_Thump-Thump Thump-Thump_

But something didn't feel right

"John." Kent's voice broke into the silence of the house, quiet and strained. He feels something and he has to have clarification on if it's just him feeling it.

But John once again doesn't answer. He's leaning over the windowsill now. Looking at two dirty cups of water that had caught rain water in them from the dripping ceiling above. As he watches, the water in the glasses vibrates, making concentric circles.

Then it stops - -and then it vibrates again. Rhythmically.

When Kent cracks his eyes open, it's not John he stares at to question why he can hear his heart so clearly through the buzzing in his head. It's the ominous looking shadow from beyond the window. And it doesn't go away even as he closes his eyes to reopen them again when he's partially certain that it's just his eyes playing tricks on him. Instead it moves along the window and a buzzing sound accompanies its movements.

_Kk-kk-kk-kkr._

And immediately the sound breaks through the haze as well as the realization that it wasn't his heart he was hearing all that time. And suddenly he's wearily panicked.

"John." This time Kent's voice was more pressing, more commanding, controlled with a hint of desperation behind it. John continued to study the water, before walking away and turning to Kent. "Yeah, Kent?"

" _There's something staring at me_."

John's head whipped to the right in his companions direction. His sight traveled to Kent's profile, still pressed against the wall. Even in the dark, John could see the color was leaving Kent's face, his lips were dry, chapped and his eyes were locked to the window.

_Kk-kk-kk-kkr._

Glaring it's beautiful silver eyes, full of anger, looking for prey, looking for revenge and currently stilling itself on Kent, had been the creature. It stared at the two of them from outside the house, breathing rapid breaths that clouded the window and then cleared it within half a second.

Kent's pitiful voice broke the silence

" _It found us._ "

The creature reacted immediately to the voice, snarling it's teeth at Kent, drool falling from it's gaping mouth, the obvious look of want clouding its eyes, as it kept its gaze locked on the ghoul who was currently trying to get up off the floor, but struggling, his mouth popped open, but no sound emanating from it.

Steadily John reached over and grabbed his companion by the shoulder of his suit, pulling him up and closer to him. Kent winced in pain and started to pant, leaning heavy against John with his back bent against the wall, trying desperately to keep all weight off his leg as a headache assaulted his temples.

The animal watched as its prey began to move, sensing ones weakness and pressed it's head and hand closer onto the panes of glass, hard enough that John heard the glass make crinkling noises at the pressure, fissure cracks spider-webbing out from the palm of the creatures hand.

_Oh god it's gonna break the glass..._

It then took in a deep breath, letting out a high pitched screech from the hub of it's body. John's hands flew over his ears and Kent grunted in pain from the sound, the house seeming to vibrate underneath them. It was a scream of want, of anger, a scream loud enough to vibrate their bones. John looked over and the animal gazed into his eyes, it's own broadening to his as in warning.

And John knew what it wanted

He felt Kent shake under his arm, and without thought, John pulled Kent to the front of him, wrapping his arm protectively around his front. The creature bared its fangs once more, the teeth long and jagged, ending sharp and uneven. It seemed to take the notion as a challenge, something John wasn't prepared to deal with, but was willing to all the same.

Darkness laid upon the room heavily as the figures silhouette started to pace, back and forth over and over again, trailing its clawed, gnarled fingers against the glass and the wall, its footfalls echoing in the quiet between crescendos of thunder. Every once in a while, it fanged it's teeth at John and shrieked at him, raking in hissing breaths and shrieking again as if trying to get John to react in a way that would be beneficial to it.

  
For right now John knew the challenge would be intimidation, to see which one broke under the pressure. Under the pressure to escape, and under the pressure to hunt. But still John held his ground, his arm wrapped protectively around Kent, who just stared bug-eyed and shook like a leaf in his arm, as he watched the jaws of the creature, which within lurked a disquieting grin, a sinister, unchanging smile wrought of sharp teeth.

But underneath that grin, if John's eyes weren't deceiving him, was the look of furious disappointment. John was obviously winning this little game of patience, for as every second past and slipped into minutes, the creature seemed to get more and more frustrated that it's quarry was playing hard to get, occasionally ramming its hips or a leg into the side of the building, with enough strength to rattle the house from the inside out. It obviously lived off the thrill of the hunt, which John knew would make escaping it difficult, unless they could slip away. John knew they couldn't keep this up. That Kent couldn't keep this up, already he could feel the smaller ghouls legs beginning to buckle underneath him despite the support both he and the wall gave him.

Suddenly the creature stopped pacing, a skeletal like hand racking it's long nails down the glass once more, the sound horrid in their ears, one last attempt to intimidate them to come out. And suddenly John knows the game is over, all he has to do now is wait for it to punch the glass in and make a grab for them, if they moved quickly maybe they would get away fast enough.

But the explosion of glass didn't come, instead he watched as suddenly, the creature rose its head, its breath fogging the glass with each puff, before it slowly started to backed away from the house and out of view.

John waited as everything became silent, the sound of the hard rain outside masking any potential sounds. He turned to Kent, who looked at him with a wide-fearful stare and John gave him a reassuring squeeze around the shoulders.

"I think it's gone, we sho-"

Just then, the overgrown hedge bushes outside began to shake violently and make rattling sounds against the house, that Hancock had heard and try to dismiss all the same, thinking it was some animal come out of hiding now that the creature was gone.

Then all of a sudden, the house began to shake as well, the floor moving under his feet. And just like during a mini earthquake, the house began to rattle on its foundation-aged dust came raining down on them from the high ceiling, the cups on the windowsill bouncing until one moved from the ledge and came crashing onto the floor with a horrid pop. The skeleton in the corner fell apart with a dry rattle, while the window glass and kitchen cabinet doors began their own rattling in their aged frames.

And then a faint, dull thudding noise came—it seemed to push its way into his ears  
and from a window, John watched in horror as something large came bounding at high speeds from the woods, crashing through trees, headed straight towards the house.

_Thump thump thump thump_

The game wasn't over.

_Thump thump THUMPTHUMPTHUMP_

_Not by a long shot_

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter, Please Comment and or leave a Kudo and have a nice day.


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